Chapter Text
Jean-Luc had managed to find an empty table under the shadow of a tree, a spot where he could feel fairly private, yet still take in the calming sight of passersby.
Having been cooped up at Starfleet HQ more or less constantly for the past ten days, it almost felt as if he had made a grand escape just by sitting there.
Not that he had wanted to be anywhere else. Doing whatever was within his power, and then some, to help keep essential functions going within Starfleet after the devastating losses suffered on Frontier Day seemed not only his duty, but something he needed to do for himself… and his family.
Family. The word still tasted very new to him. He hadn’t quite gotten used to what it meant or even worked it into how he thought about his future.
It had taken him a long time to resign himself to the fact that he didn’t have a family, that he could live out his life acceptably without one. And yet, whenever he had thought of family… her face was always the first he saw.
In his mind, she was the most familiar, safe, and comforting presence in the universe to him. She almost always had been.
When he had seen her in that pod, cold and barely alive, she had still filled him with a sensation he thought was lost to him forever. But at the same time, he had looked at someone almost a stranger.
She was changed, and she had chosen a life where he wasn’t there. The most important person in his life had wanted a life without him.
And though he rationally knew why, understood it, and had even told her she was right, it tore at him in a way he wasn’t really able to put into words. At least, not yet.
He needed to talk to her. Truly talk to her. The past ten days, even onboard the Titan, they had talked, but not really.
They had fallen into familiar rhythms, solving problems, trusting each other with the strengths they knew… turning their focus on a common project they could agree was more important than their failure to communicate… their son.
Their son. He huffed out a breath whenever he truly tasted the word. He had known Jack for only a few weeks.
He had been a father for almost twenty-five years, but in his mind and body, he was relating to Jack almost as if he was a newborn.
Whenever he saw Jack and Beverly together, he had to work his mind to fill in all the fragments of time that had passed between Casperia Prime and this moment.
He was making progress with Jack, thanks to his own efforts but just as much to Jack’s, and he thought, Beverly’s workings in the background. Guiding them both toward fruitful conversations and shared topics that wouldn’t push each other’s buttons.
He sensed she was trying to make him see how much alike they were, and he realized how he had missed, and struggled to live without her working on his behalf in the shadows. Not so much for his relationship with others, but for his understanding of himself and his willingness to sometimes break a habit or two and realize it didn’t hurt.
That seemed to have been an art he had lost in her absence.
Today would be a good day to finally talk to her alone, he reasoned as he ordered another strong espresso to fortify himself.
He should have asked her here. Surely, she was going as stir-crazy as he was, putting in all those hours at the lab and with Jack.
He shook his head at himself. Why hadn’t he thought of that sooner?
Then he remembered how he had been put a little out of sorts that morning when he entered Jack’s room.
Beverly had been there by his side, and they had clearly been talking, but when he entered, they both seemed flushed, trying to distract him from themselves. Their conversation had died out into some insistent whispers that almost sounded like an argument, before they both looked at him and smiled in a way that didn’t feel entirely natural.
Similar moments had happened a few days earlier, but he had shrugged them off to exhaustion and them still needing to find their way around each other.
Whenever he laid eyes on Beverly, he felt calmer than he had the second before, but he also felt like his brain was being wrapped in cotton… as if he didn’t know how to talk to her anymore.
Even though the conversations he had with her in his head made more sense to him than anything else in his life, he just didn’t seem to be able to translate it into actual conversation.
He hadn’t even touched her… or was it that she didn’t want to touch him? He wasn’t sure.
Even when they hadn’t been in one of their many attempts at a romantic relationship, they had always shared calming and familiar touches.
She had been the only one to dare touch him on the Enterprise, and he had always been grateful for her presence and how that seemed to remind him of who he was. He wasn’t sure why they hadn’t touched now.
At first, he had been angry. He would have to admit that to himself, and to her. But then, as his anger faded, and the more time they spent together on the Titan, the more she seemed to create a physical distance between them.
At first, he thought she was just cold on the Titan, which was why she held herself so tightly.
But HQ wasn’t cold. In fact, the malfunctioning climate controls had provided them with quite a tropical indoor heat for a few days, and still, she clutched herself so closely, as if she was afraid her limbs would fall off. Or maybe she just wanted to make sure he knew not to approach her any further.
He exhaled deeply, tilting his head back to look up at the sky, before closing his eyes. The moment he did, he saw her face again.
It wasn’t that Jack didn’t occupy his thoughts. He did. but Jack was still so new to him, and it would take time to weave him into how he knew the world to be.
But she… she had been there, almost always. Even in the years she hadn’t been in his life, he knew her face. He knew her tells. He just hadn’t allowed himself to fully form a coherent narrative yet.
What he did know, and didn’t want to think about, was that she was hiding something from him. The whispers, the forced smiles, the physical self-control, the way her eyes held his for only the briefest of moments, the way she busied herself when he tried to change the subject. And the way she steered his attention to Jack whenever he tried to steer it toward her…
All of that told him she was keeping something from him. He just had no idea what it was. All he knew was that he needed to find out, desperately, because he was fairly certain that was the reason he felt so disoriented all the time.
Galactic armageddons were on his resume as something he could handle. His bewildered love for Beverly Crusher was not.
He glanced at his chronometer. It was still early, and though two espressos deep, he wasn’t in any rush. He had been up early. He pressed his communicator.
“Picard to Crusher…”
There was a pause. Longer than he liked, and in those few seconds, his mind wandered, chastising himself for disturbing her.
“Yes… Jean-Luc…”
He exhaled softly. The way she said his name—no one else said it like that. He noticed, too late, that while he had been formal in addressing her, she had not, which made him instantly regret his tone.
“Jean-Luc…” she repeated, her voice bringing him back to the present. He realized he hadn’t responded when it was clearly his turn to speak.
“Yes. Beverly. Good morning. I realize it’s early. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Of course not. I’ve been up for hours.”
“Of course you have…” His voice softened. “Have you had breakfast?”
Another pause. This time, on her end. He tightened his lips, already regretting the question.
“Beverly…” he ventured gently after a beat.
“I… I have not.”
“I’m sitting in front of The Terrace of Time and I was wondering… would you care to join me for breakfast?”
“Jean-Luc…” Her voice was almost a whisper. He tried to picture her face, reading the unease in her tone. He was just about to rescind his invitation, mentally preparing to retreat with some dignity intact, when …
“Sure… I’d love to,” she suddenly replied.
His cheeks flushed with a surprised smile. “Wonderful… You know where it is, I think?”
“I do,” she replied neutrally. “On my way.”
He straightened the cloth on the table, then called the server to order another round of espressos, two croissants, two pains au chocolat, and a small bowl of mixed berries.
He adjusted the angle of one of the croissants on the plate, making it look more casually placed. He knew he was trying too hard, and didn’t want her to notice.
Five minutes later, he saw her turn the corner across the street. Her silver-streaked hair blew chaotically in the wind, framing her face.
He liked how long it had grown, though he couldn’t help but wonder when the blackish grey had replaced more of the red. Perhaps she thought keeping just hints of the red would make her less recognizable.
As she tried to tame her hair, his eyes lingered on how she managed to make a standard Starfleet two-piece uniform fall so effortlessly across her figure.
She was as beautiful as ever. More so, with all the years and history between them. She stood waiting to cross the street, then glided across gracefully, her face brightening into a true Beverly smile, as she spotted him.
She raised her hand and waved.
His breath caught. He didn’t even have to think about it. Gods, how he loved her. Wanted her. How he always had. How he always would. Even if they were two gears of disaster.
He stood as she reached the table, wondering if he could get away with a polite peck on the cheek … just a simple touch. But he hesitated too long.
“Good morning,” she said, pulling out the chair energetically, and he instantly regretted not moving quickly enough to pull it out for her.
“Good morning… I took the liberty of ordering.”
“I see that. It looks wonderful,” she replied, flashing him another smile, though this one felt a little less genuine than the one he’d caught as she approached.
“Did you manage to finish yesterday?” he asked, referring to the reports she had been focused on the day before.
“I did…”
“Good… and… Jack? Did you and he have a nice talk this morning?” he continued, thinking of the moment he had walked in and felt awkward, somewhat unwelcome.
She looked up at him casually and nodded. “Yes, we… we talked. He has a lot on his mind, as you know.”
“Of course. He seems to have taken to the therapy sessions, though…” he said, trying to sound encouraging.
She scoffed.
“You don’t think so?”
“No, Jean-Luc… He’s doing it because he feels guilty, not because he believes it can help him in any way.”
He opened his mouth to respond but struggled to find the words at first. “Beverly, how can I help?” he finally managed.
“Just… be patient. He would never tell you to your face, but what you think of him matters. How you relate to him matters. How you… judge him… almost defines him in the headspace he’s in.”
“Beverly, I would never—”
“Wouldn’t you?” she interrupted, her tone suddenly sharp.
He swallowed and nudged the plate of croissants her way.
She shook her head, then reluctantly took one. “I’m sorry, Jean-Luc. That was unfair.”
“It’s alright,” he muttered, trying not to let on how hurt and confused he felt.
“Did you talk about anything else?” he asked, unsure how else to approach the topic weighing on his mind.
She looked up, startled. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t mean anything specific, I’m just asking.”
She shook her head. “I don’t really remember. Nothing special, I don’t think…”
He nodded. “Alright…”
She began tearing the croissant to shreds, then took a large sip of the strong espresso. A long silence fell between them.
“Beverly…” he began again, her eyes flickering back up without meeting his directly. “Have you thought about my offer?”
She took a deep breath.
“Jean-Luc, I think… we should just stay in the rooms we’ve been given for now.”
“But Beverly, they’re so small… You can’t possibly like it there. You can barely see outside through that tiny peephole they call a window.”
“It’s fine, Jean-Luc.”
“It’s not fine…” he said, his voice rising in frustration. It wasn’t really about the room, and he suspected she knew that too.
“Beverly, the château is large. You could have your own wing. I could sleep in the winery if that makes you feel better. And you could beam from there to here every day in seconds from the transporter pad I had installed. You always…” His voice trailed off.
“Jean-Luc… No. I’m not going to put you out. You have a life at the château, I do not. I lost that… right… long ago.”
“What? No…”
“Yes.”
“Beverly.”
“Thank you for breakfast, Jean-Luc…” she said, starting to rise, but he gently grabbed her hand, feeling that was their most intense form of physical contact in 25 years.
“Beverly, please. Sit back down. You haven’t eaten a crumb. That poor croissant is in shreds on your plate. I’ll stop talking… but please, eat. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to press.”
She sat back down, sighing as she put her face in her hands.
“No, I’m sorry. There’s… something I need to tell you. I just… I don’t know how. I would say I need more time, but that’s not going to help. But, Jean-Luc… Not here.”